


The Holmes Kids

by HalflingPrincess



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Heathers, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Sherlock, Based on a Musical, Bullying, Drugs, Eurus is a cupcake, Evil Mary Morstan, F/F, F/M, Gay John Watson, Gay Sherlock, I'm Bad At Tagging, Inspired by Music, John is Perfect, John-centric, M/M, Mycroft Being a Bastard, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Peer Pressure, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Teenlock, Underage Drinking, lots of bullying, people die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-17 20:12:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10601361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalflingPrincess/pseuds/HalflingPrincess
Summary: John's tired of being the bottom of the food chain in high school, senior year better be much better. But is the price for his rise to the top worth it?*Inspired loosely on Heathers: the Musical*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First seems to be kind of long... Oops, but it won't stay so long as I write more. Enjoy?

Senior year. Still putting up with being shoved into a locker, having his tray knocked from his hands due to the occasional disagreement in the cafeteria and being completely overlooked. This year, John swore, that would change.

“Be careful what you wish for”, John’s mother used to say when he was smaller. Now, he was tired of wishing and not getting, he was determined to do and get results.

Perhaps whatever God is out there heard John. He was likely to never forget his senior year.

* * *

 

So, first day of his senior year.

A loud beeping fills John’s room, the blonde fumbled to shut the obnoxious alarm off. “Great,” he mutters, pulling himself from his all too comfy and warm bed into the chilly air, free of his blanket. He pulls on clothes, jeans and a collared button up, pulling a jumper over. He doesn’t bother with breakfast, only leaves after gathering his notebook, phone and headphones. “This is going to be a different year,” he repeatedly tells himself as he walks to school.

Entering the school, John’s hopes of a new, better year slowly start to vanish as he starts seeing everyone in his first class. James Moriarty, a long time disliker of John due to the sheer fact that he just exists and the current boyfriend of Eurus Holmes. John tries not to let Jim catch him eyeing him, he didn’t need his jumper ruined by whatever lunch was served today. Eurus and Jim were terrifying together, but Jim didn’t go around the other Holmes. After Jim, was Molly Hooper, a close - if not the only friend that John has. Her bouncy hair and bright smile seemed to make John feel better, despite how shit of a day he could be having. She had dated Jim back in their Freshman year, so Jim seeing her with John added to the dislike.

People John didn’t know too well entered as well. Then the last but also the only person John wanted to see entered the room. Sherlock Holmes. For a senior, he dressed well. His money was evident, so was his confidence. Sherlock was smart, he was cold as well. He didn’t do friends very well, some said if his siblings hadn’t been in the school with him, he wouldn’t even have friends. Sherlock had skipped many grades just to be the same grade as his older brother, who had shared the grade with his 3 years younger brother since 3rd grade. Their younger sister later did the same thing when they entered 5th grade. Since John’s 5th grade, he had one 3 Holmes kids in his class.

Sherlock sat in a seat close to John, not giving anyone a second glance as he pulled out his phone and began to type away at the screen. John leaned a bit closer, unknowingly. He had admired Sherlock for the longest time, his ebony curls and calm composure. Aside from those few times… Sherlock was perfect, to John and to many of the other kids they shared classes with. Sherlock, Eurus and Mycroft were things to be admired from afar but never approached. Art pieces you dared not touch.

Sherlock’s gaze suddenly stopped John, who was still leaning a bit close to the much younger teen. “What’re you doing?” His voice made John almost shiver. It wasn’t deep, but it was cold as ice, as if he didn’t have an ounce of heat in his body and couldn’t care less about the question he had asked.

“I, uh,” John moved back, putting distance between the two. Sherlock seemed to lose some of his rigidness as he watched John make distance. “Nothing,” John finally replied, heat had engulfed his entire body and was slowly creeping up his neck. Sherlock didn’t say anything else, just let John blush and squirm under his level gaze until their teacher walked in. Not once did she tell Sherlock to pay attention or to put his phone away, she wouldn’t dare.

No one messed with the Holmes kids. Eurus was terrifying in her own way, Sherlock could destroy you with a few sentences and Mycroft had influence in places most adults didn’t. Only when you caught one of the three doing something they shouldn’t unexpectedly did you gain leverage over them. Whispers had it that usually that only happened when Sherlock was high, not that John listens to whispers.

A few classes rolled by, John only had 1 with Sherlock, 2 with Eurus (without Jim) and 1 with Mycroft. That was the most he had seen the three in his classes over the last 4 years, and it frightened him how close they were to him at almost all times.

Walking around during his free period, John was looking at the posters on a wall when he noticed Mycroft down the hall, shoving Sherlock into a bathroom. Shortly after, Mrs. Turner (the geometry teacher) came walking briskly down the hall, red and and pointed glasses, her heels clacked loudly in the empty hall; she was a woman on a mission. It was whispered that Mrs. Turner’s husband had worked at the school, and he had a nasty habit of smacking student hands with his meter stick. They said that one day, he smacked Eurus Holmes across the knuckles, and before the skin had even turned red from the hit, he was drag from the room by men in black suits. Those men supposedly worked for the Holmes father, some high official. Ever since, Mrs. Turner had been trying to catch one of the three at something they shouldn’t be.

John hadn’t realized he had moved down the hall until he was just outside the bathroom door. Mrs. Turner had walked right in- she wasn’t afraid of the Holmes repercussions of anything she did. John looked down at the notebook in his hand and realized they were supposed to be in a class. They were in for it, probably going to the office and getting detention. But if they didn’t…

Mrs. Turner was in the middle of saying something about a hall pass when John shoved the door open, holding a page in his hand. “Oh, there you two are. I was looking for you, come on we have more yearbook stuff to do,” pushing a bit of an authoritative tone, sounding much like his war general father, John looked to the two Holmes boys. One looked shocked, the other mildly pleased. Both expressions were covered as Mrs. Turner turned back to them.

“Well, it does say all three names. Fine, but don’t let me catch you skipping,” she turned and left, rather bristly and disappointed in her failed attempt to catch the little devils that were Holmes.

Mycroft marched over, snatching the yellow page from John’s hand. “This is an excellent forgery, who are you?”

“Watson, uh, John Watson,” he replied, trying to sound confident and not terrified of the boy his age and the other boy a few years younger. Instead he straightened his shoulders and looked at the elder levelly, meeting his steely gaze.

“The soldier boy from class,” Sherlock said, moving to stand from where he was seated on the bathroom floor. He had been puking into the toilet while Mycroft soothed him gently before the teacher marched in.

“How did you-” John felt a sharp twinge in his chest at the mention of his soldier father, although he wasn’t directly mentioned.

“I saw it. But, that is beside the question, you want help with something. Perhaps,” he paused and looked at Mycroft. Mycroft seemed to look at his younger sibling at the exact same time as they shared some silent conversation without John.

“He has potential,” Sherlock said. They both turned their gaze to John. “Smart, healthy,” Sherlock paused, a smile spreading across his face, “bendable.”

John felt scared then. He shouldn’t have done this, should have stayed dealing with Jim and the other bullies and passing through his final year without being seen. Now he was seen and never had John felt so exposed. Both pairs of eyes seemed to see every flaw, every hidden secret deep down and they weren’t afraid to make it known. They were untouchable and it was…

“Beautiful,” Mycroft said, rolling his eyes. “I think this could be beautiful. A respectable lad like John will keep teachers at bay when you and Eurus get up to your… shenanigans,” he turned to wards the sink to wash his hands. “But, you can’t dress like that.”

Sherlock seemed to stalk closer, eyes moving up and down John’s body. Finally they settled on his face, “Come home with us.”

Mycroft and John were startled by that. “W-what?”

Sherlock took John’s wrist, eyeing the watch. “You mother won’t be home till morning. That is why you have a second alarm, one for you to greet her and one for you to wake for school. Doctor, late and weird hours. You reset the watch frequently, but not frequently enough for it to be a timer, Not that you would need a timer when you cook, you use the kitchen timer. But, as I was saying,” Sherlock paused for a moment, “come home with us. You can sleep at our house while your mother is away.”

“How did you know she was going to be away?” John found himself intrigued by the middle Holmes. Not that he hadn’t been before, but now he had a subtle admiration, aside from the adoration of just what the Holmes signified, but of what he could do. He picked apart John’s life by just his watch.

“You didn’t set the second alarm. My guess is that she is leaving town, medical meeting perhaps?” Sherlock seemed a bit unsure of his last deduction.

“Military. She had leave over summer, but she leaves this afternoon. Joining my father on the fields again,” John found himself admitting. The slender fingers around his wrist made him feel like jelly, how he barely noticed the cold fingers that were undoubtedly taking his pulse as he practically swooned over the Holmes.

“Let’s keep him. I like him,” Sherlock said, dropping his wrist and turning to the Eldest. The elder Holmes sighed, said something about Eurus having to agree and then he turned towards the door. Sherlock followed, flashing John an almost sadistic smile. “We are going to have so much fun together.”

Once the two had gone, John could almost jump for joy. He wound up punching one of the stalls, the wood banging back into the wall before he realized he needed to calm down. ‘It’s just people,’ he kept telling himself. The last hour of school seemed to go by in a daze, because before John knew it, he was dragged to a black car by Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft was seated in the back, Eurus in the front and Sherlock shoved John between him and Mycroft. The driver didn’t say a word as they left the school, eyes following the car as if they knew something was up inside.

* * *

John had never seen a house so big. His parents owned an apartment in London, but both his parents never seemed to be home at the same time long enough for it to have grown cramped and small. His sister had moved out long before, running away from home with her fiance Clara. Last he heard, they were in the States, just traveling. He often found himself wondering if Harry’s drinking problem had stopped, but never bothered trying to contact the older woman. Now, he felt as if his home was a mouse hole compared to the Holmes Manor.

The four exited the car, Eurus getting into another, Mycroft heading inside and Sherlock dragging John around the back of the house. Ivy covered old stone, large rod iron windows adorned the walls with green shutters, flower boxes in every window and a stone path all the way around the building. The back had a separate door, when opened it led into the basement of the house.

John suddenly realized he barely knew this person who was currently dragging him down a stairwell into a basement. Lights flashed on, just as John had almost decided to turn and run back up the stairs. He used to play rugby, he could definitely outrun a Holmes. Instead, he found himself confronted with a large room that was quiet beautifully decorated. ‘ _Faggot_ ,’ the word whispered into his mind, causing him to suddenly flinch away from the hand that held his wrist. His father’s voice always found a way into his life, causing him to flinch away from whatever magnetized him towards things he shouldn’t like.

“Too gay?” Sherlock said, his voice still ice cold, but his eyes weren’t towards John, they were glaring at the messy bookshelf across the room. “I have that.”

“Have what?” John found himself saying, almost wanting to ignore the fact Sherlock Holmes just admitted to being gay. It had been whispered around school, once again those little voices that came up when the Holmes siblings missed school. The words that said Sherlock had originally liked James Moriarty before Eurus but something seemed to happen between them and the youngest Holmes got the rugby captain.

Now, John stood in the place that Jim had undoubtedly stood, in front of that very beautiful male. The homophobic whispers scratched at his throat, but John fought back all his negative thoughts. Sherlock was now staring at John as he went through his internal thoughts, having said something John had undoubtedly missed. “What did you say?”

Sherlock seemed to be amused by John, a little toy for him to bend and break as he wishes. His popularity was what was keeping John from running and he knew it. He knew John needed Sherlock for his final year not to be complete hell. One word to any person and John’s name would be on every tongue at school, one word and no one would look at him like he was scum. Sherlock had all that power in his pale palms, and John knew that they both knew that John was now a puppet. He had gone too far to turn back now.

“Are you going to change or not?” Sherlock repeated, stripping off his coat jacket, leaving him in a stark white button up that seemed to cling to his chest in a way that drew John’s attention.

“W-why?” John began to blush at his stutter, wanting to slap himself for sounding so stupid.

“Well, if we are going to be hanging out, you cannot wear that,” Sherlock said, turning and striding to his large wardrobe. He pulled out a pair of silk pants and a black t shirt, changing into the new outfit without even batting an eyelash at the blush that seemed to engulf John. The shorter blonde seemed to fumble before pulling off his jumper, folding it and placing it on a nearby table that was littered with books and folders.

“That is much better,” Sherlock said, smiling devilishly at the shirt under John’s jumper. “Your father’s?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t wear those jeans, they’re stained. Do you have any dress pants?” Sherlock said, twirling a finger for John to turn around. John obliged, swallowing his blush back as it threatened to creep back up.

“I have some black jeans,” John said, thinking about his collection of dark denim at home. He didn’t go to church, so he never bothered with slacks. He just wore the blue jeans until they were noticeably dirty and then tossed them in the wash and wore another pair, repeat the cycle.

“You can’t wear the same pair every day either. No one else will notice, but I will,” Sherlock says, his voice is almost threatening. John nods, the soldierly nod he often saw his father do when the man would videochat him during the summer.

“Otherwise, I like this- your look I mean,” Sherlock waved a hand up and down, shoving a dark jacket into John’s arms. Next his long fingers were in John’s hair, pushing the blonde strands over and back. He smiled to himself as he fixed John’s in a very posh way. John almost wanted to push him away as much as he wanted to pull him closer. Seconds later, Sherlock moved back, pleased. “Perfect. Yes.”

John had shrugged on the black coat that fit him rather well and much better than the ratty leather jacket he had back home. It made his shoulders more square, made him stand a little taller next to the Holmes.

“Okay, let’s get food. Mummy will have my arse if I don’t join the family for dinner, come.” The simple command had John at his tail, the taller boy slipping on a robe as they climb stairs into the main part of the house. To John’s surprise, a normal looking woman is placing plates, chatting kindly with her children. “Your father is out, won’t be home until late,” the blonde woman was saying to her children that were seated at the table. Eurus, who John had only ever seen in a blouse and blazer matched with a black skirt, was wearing a pink shirt and fluffy bunny pants, her feet covered in lime green socks. Mycroft was wearing a black shirt and sweatpants, his professional image completely erased from John’s mind as he looked so uninterested in the table conversation.  

John suddenly no longer found the trio so scary and almost found them… ordinary. He wouldn’t say that because he knew they still had power over him, even if Mycroft had black rabbit slippers on.

“Oh! Willy! You brought a friend?”

John must have looked as confused and amused as he felt as Sherlock Holmes being called Willy by a woman John’s size with curlers in her hair and a shirt that said ‘Best Mum Ever’. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” Eurus said, her lips curling into a teasing smile/snarl at John. He suddenly remembered why he feared the trio. They would eat him for dinner and not remember his name later.

“Willy, who is your friend?” The woman continued, ignoring the way the Holmes kids seemed a bit thrown back that John was still there while Sherlock seemed to gloat at his siblings while also making John still feel like an outcast.

“This is John Watson. His parents are in the military. Can he stay with us? I promise to take care of him,” he said, almost making John sound like some lost puppy. But, to the three, he probably was.

“Sure, sweet. Grab him a plate and let us all eat,” she turned to John, gesturing for him to take a seat, “I’m Lydia. I’m certain you know my children,” she almost laughed as if someone not knowing the kids were some joke. Sherlock returned with a plate for John, taking his own seat before they all began to eat. John knew at that moment, eating a soft yeast roll and sipping tea with the three most powerful kids at his school that his life was over. It no longer belonged to him and he knew he was just a toy to them to do as they wished. ‘This could be beautiful,’ a voice whispered in the back of his mind as he chatted nicely with a Mrs. Lydia Holmes. She proved to be just as terrifying as her children, but John hoped to overlook it as he was just filled with anxiety.


	2. Candy Store

The whispers surrounded John as the four entered the school. His black jeans and pressed dark blue shirt were not the topic, instead it was him in general. He walked between Sherlock and Eurus, Mycroft to the left of Sherlock as the crowd parted as if Moses had commanded it. His name was whispered frequently, eyes averting his gaze as he glanced around at the people who, before yesterday, didn’t know who he was. 

‘Maybe it is better like this,’ John thought to himself, almost smiling smugly as people seemed to fear him as much as they feared the original trio. Sherlock seemed to gaze ahead, Eurus would glare at a person then make a jump to startle them and Mycroft looked indifferent of the entire situation. John tried to look as unfazed by the reactions of people as the Holmes kids did, but he just felt as if he looked nervous. Not that he was… he was beyond nervous. His hands didn’t shake as they normally did, his breathing was deep as he controlled his heart rate the way his father had taught him. John found himself craving to be away from the icy trio as he felt the ice start to prick at his own skin. He hadn’t texted Molly the night before to ask about her day and he started to wonder what she would say about him and the Holmes trio. 

Just as his thoughts lingered to his friend, her mousy brown hair came into view. She was at her locker, pulling out books and putting her bright pink backpack into the locker, the door covered in kitten stickers and flowers. John found it a bit silly but at the same time a bit nice, her girliness. 

He went to say something when he was suddenly shoved into a dark classroom. Two of the Holmes stood in front of the door. “So, Jonnie boy,” Eurus seemed to purr and hiss at the same time, stalking a bit closer. Sherlock had locked the door, his long calculated strides going the opposite side of Eurus as the two circled him like prey. “Now is your reckoning,” Sherlock said, his voice just as cold as Eurus. Icy blue eyes staring into John’s eyes, maybe even his soul. 

“Molly Hooper,” Eurus said, long black hair flicked suddenly over her shoulder. “Get rid of her.” John let out a gasp. “You want me to… kill her?” That was it, he knew this was coming. They were crazy people, lunatics that people feared not because they were beautiful but because they were plain crazy. 

“No, not literally. You see, Jonnie, your little friend is after my boyfriend. What better way to burn someone than through their heart?” Eurus said, running an ice cold hand up his arm. Even though the blazer, he shivered. “This is your moment.” Her voice was like a siren, pulling him towards the rocks that meant his utter destruction.  Sherlock was not offering any help, only gazing coldly and circling John like prey as the two pushed him closer to the rocks. 

“What do I have to do?” He whispered, voice small. He hated to do this, he would refuse if it was bad… deep down they all knew that wasn’t true. John was a puppet and he was dangled over the rocks, make it or break it. ‘What is the loss of one friend to gain many more?’ He found Sherlock’s voice being the voice of his reasoning. Bad, not good, more than a bit not good. 

“Write a letter, from Jimmy dear. Tell her he loves her and would love to be with her again, tell her whatever you think he would say,” Eurus said simply, as if fake love letters were the most simplest thing in the world. Sherlock pulled paper from his coat pocket, and a pen. “You know the writing of nearly everyone of importance in school,” Sherlock said, sliding the paper across the desk that was beside John. “Either you can refuse, and we can ruin your name… or, you can do it and prove you want this.”

That was how John found himself next to a squaling Molly in Chemistry. She had found the note during lunch, believed it was truly from Jim and showed John. “I knew he still cared. He invited me to his party,” she said, her voice so filled with love and admiration it made John feel shame. She was messing with her hair, the low ponytail having been pulled out when John had read the note. “Colour me stoked,” he had said almost as monotonously as the Holmes trio did. Lunch with the three had involved bickering among the three about something John hadn’t really followed. From what he gathered, Mycroft knew what the other Holmes kids had pushed him into, and didn’t say a word. Not then at least. 

The evening, as John sat in Sherlock’s room, wanting to text Molly, two other Holmes walked into the room. “Phone,” the youngest said, not waiting for him to toss it over and snatched it from his hands. The Eldest looked down at John, who was seated on a fluffy rug, cross legged and wearing grey sweatpants and sweatshirt. “Are we going to have a problem?” Mycroft seemed to hiss in a similar manner as his sister. “You’ve come so far John. One little girl with the intelligence of a kitten is not something to fret over.” Sherlock stepped up with his siblings as they slowly got closer to John, causing him to fall back just to look up at them. 

“I mean, unless of course you prefer her company. Go, maybe Seasame Street is on and you can braid her hair,” Sherlock added, tilting his head to the side. 

“You can either join us, forget the little people or fall back down to the bottom. Now, John, are you going to be a wuss and text that mousy girl? She will never forgive you, you know. It’s too late to go back,” Mycroft said, chin tilted up in an alpha way. John knew instantly they were right. He was no longer just a pawn, he was the puppet master.

“Looks like we have a new team player,” Eurus said, tossing the phone back. “Just so you know, she isn’t really your friend. If she had the shot you have right now, she would take it and never look back.” The words stung, like a knife in John’s gut. If he had ditched his friend so easily, a loyal soldier son that was raised to never turn your back on anyone, anyone else would have done it without so much hesitation. He knew they were right, if Molly had his spot, she would have taken it. If anyone had his spot, they would take it. He wasn’t so bad a person when he thought about it like that, he was a better person because he did hesitate. Right? 

Inside, the little voice that sometimes sounded like his mother sounded faint. He only heard the icy voice resembling Sherlock that said it was true, he was a better person. This is how you rise to the top, you have to climb over everyone else. Of course, that was life. Molly would understand. But, why did John feel like shit? 

“Brother, sister, please leave my room. John looks like he needs some air,” Sherlock had turned his icy gaze on the other two Holmes. They just rolled their eyes at the middle sibling then took their leave, throwing John looks of warning as they left. The sun had set hours ago, and the mother of the house had also gone to bed with the sun. Sherlock got a devilish glint to his eyes, “Grab you coat. Let’s go.” John found himself not asking questions and only following the taller man out of the door that lead to the yard. Sherlock lead John to a car, where he made John drive. The Holmes Manor was in the rear view mirror as they took off towards central London. John didn’t ask questions, though he had many. Sherlock wouldn’t answer, only say when to turn and give sideways looks. 

“Did she really mean enough to you to question this?” Sherlock asked when John had reached a red light. John found himself a taken aback by the question. 

“Of course. We have been friends since… practically birth,” John said, his eyes never leaving the road, waiting for Sherlock to tell another way to turn. 

“You have a sister though, isn’t that enough?” 

“My sister is much older and we don’t get along well,” John found himself saying. He sometimes wished his sister was closer to him, but then he would remember the fights between her and their father and think her being across the ocean was for the best. “It is best we aren’t close.”

“She’s openly gay,” Sherlock stated rather than asked. John’s eyes left the road long enough to give Sherlock a questioning glance. “I noticed your distaste for my queerness, but seeing as how you seem to gravitate towards me, I figure you’re hiding whatever you don’t want to really say. I figure it is more of a father’s choice, it usually is the father that runs a family member out. Not always, but your father is a strict military man. Your sister is very far, so she wasn’t just leaving home, she was leaving her old life. Perhaps with a lover. But, what lover would cause a woman to run so far? One her family strictly disagrees with, a female lover. That is part of your distaste for my queerness, a gay broke your family up. Is that what your father would say?” 

John was slightly horrified at how accurate that was. How on point he had gotten everything, his family, Clara and Harry, his own thoughts. “I’m not gay,” he found himself responding, rather sharply once his brain registered that Sherlock basically called him closeted. Sherlock just chuckled, threw out another direction and fell silent. By the time they stopped, they were in front of a house that John didn’t really think they should be at. But, he was going to play the good little puppy and not question his new master. As they climb from the car, John finds himself almost unwilling to go any further. “Sherlock,” he said.

“John.”

“Why are you three making me get rid of Molly?” The question had itched at him for so many hours, getting sharper the longer he held his tongue. 

“Caring is not an advantage. Don’t think for a second she would be as loyal as my siblings or I. She would destroy you for the chance you currently have. You are a smart boy, you know what will happen if you back out now.” A black car pulled up, out climbed Eurus and Mycroft looking displeased at having been left at the manor.    
“Heed our words,” Eurus said, moving towards the house, her pink pajamas gone and replaced by tight pants and a long sleeve shirt. The other Holmes siblings moved towards the house before the door to the house opened. A tall woman with black curled hair and bright lipstick stood there, smiling broadly. She greeted the trio then her eyes fell on John like a piece of meat to a starved man. “And who is this delicious piece of candy?” She moved towards him with a grace someone their age shouldn’t have. “Irene Adler, charmed, I’m sure.”

He certainly was. “Uh, John. Waston. John Watson,” he shook her hand, feeling a bit odd. It was then he noticed how filled the house was. People were everywhere, drinks in hand and some dancing to music that played loudly. Who partied on a weekday?

Once the dark haired Irene had gotten her fill of John’s company, she found someone else to play with. John felt a bit abandoned by the trio as he stood in a house he didn’t know, with people he knew but also didn’t know. A girl he certainly didn’t know approached him, scowl heavy on her face and blue eyes icy. Not nearly as cold as the Holmes, but much more hateful. 

“You’re selling your friend out to hang out with snot nosed rich kids?” She said, not even introducing herself. John was a bit taken back, again. “What kind of person does that? You shouldn’t even call her your friend if you are so willing to throw her away for those rich pansies.” He wanted to say something, something to the effect of ‘who the f are you?’ but words wouldn’t form. She had a sweater on, scarf around her neck. Although she was small and rather adorable, John found her words hurt more than any of his thoughts had. 

A hand grabbed her shoulder, “Rich pansies?” It was Irene, beside her was Eurus. “And who do you think you are, gutter rat?” A punch was thrown by one of the two brunettes, John couldn’t tell which. He had expected to step and break the fight up, but he couldn’t move. The blonde girl was surprisingly fast, after a few seconds, she had the upper hand in the fight. Eventually they broke apart, long enough for John to notice the drunken sway in Eurus’s moves. He took that chance then to sweep the smaller girl up. “You’re bloody 15, stop this,” he hissed as he dragged the kicking and cursing Eurus from the fight. The blonde someone managed to disappear into the crowd, gone before anyone could find her. Mycroft appeared as Eurus slumped against John. Sherlock was nowhere in sight. “Take her home. She is underage,” John hissed at the Eldest, causing a bit of a stir from the near sleeping child. Mycroft didn’t say a word, swept the girl up and left. An hour and they had successfully gotten a 15 year old wasted. Irene had the same sway, but she was 18 like John. But, a party is a party. He had enough alcohol in his system by the time he found Sherlock that they wouldn’t be able to drive. 

Mycroft returned and had brought a driver, one taking the wasted boys back to the Manor and one had taken the other car that John had driven. All inhibitions were lost. He no longer second guessed his choice to leave Molly in the dirt. He was smiling drunkenly at Sherlock as they joked about something he wouldn’t remember later. He didn’t even flinch when Sherlock dragged him to bed and they fell asleep atop the covers, fully dressed mind you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I got mad at the characters for bullying John then I stopped and was like "I bloody wrote this, why am I angry."


	3. Big Fun

John felt that time went faster when he was with the Holmes trio. He had taken to joking with Eurus in the hallways, working with Sherlock on their homework and chatting with Mycroft. All together, they blended with John well. It became clear quickly that Mycroft ruled the group, his words could send anyone scrambling to do his bidding. It seemed natural, he was in fact the Eldest- as John had taken to calling him. Sherlock was Sherlock or Willy if he had enough to drink and Eurus was just Eurus, but in private he had taken to calling her Bunny (as Lydia did.) She would glare then kind of smile. 

Molly would talk excitedly about the upcoming party as it crept closer. He wouldn’t text her daily as he had before, but it was okay. She seemed to think he was busy, but she was busy too. She had gotten a job as a vet assistant. 

Even though time seemed to go faster, he still hadn’t seen the blonde from the party. She had fought two females, and John had gotten a bit of Eurus’s violence when she had slapped him across the face for calling her a child. His cheek had been bruised for about two days. Now, it was friday, the fall weather was moving in and Jim’s party was moving closer. Oh, Jim. He had taken a sort of liking to John. He and Sebastian were nicer, it made John uneasy. Friday was finally rolled around, the first day of school seemed to be so far away that John could scarcely remember a time he wasn’t playing lapdog to the Holmes trio. He and Sherlock had at some point taken to sharing the large king sized bed, neither sleeping on the couch in Sherlock’s room for weeks now. John no longer flinched away when Sherlock grabbed for his wrist to drag him to some place, no longer found himself shying away when a red cup with sharp scented liquid was pushed into his hands, no longer moved away from the Holmes brothers when the smoke of their cigarettes drifted close to him. His jumpers were replaced by suit coats and pressed dress shirts. His hair had grown out from the choppy short style and seemed to stay in that posh style Sherlock had molded himself the first day of school. Girls weren’t hard to talk to either, atleast not when a drink was pressed firmly to his hands and Sherlock wasn’t in the room. He seemed to get choked up around the posh boy. 

For the first time in what felt like years but was just weeks, John was sitting in his little apartment, cleaning up and making sure none of the food in the fridge was spoiled. The ones that had gone smelly and green, John quickly tossed out. Sherlock said he had things to do before the party so he and the other two Holmes kids gave John one of the cars and an address. He was told to join them as soon as he could, not a second later. 

The apartment seemed much smaller. He never once realized how he could jump from his doorway to the threshold of his parents’ room. He never realized how his bed was small and pushed against the wall, how much light actually came in through the window. Things were much smaller, and John was finding it unsettling. He needed out of this place. With his bag thrown into the boot, he headed towards the address listed, that is until he got a text from Sherlock saying to pick up a 2 liter Coke. He didn’t ask, just pulled up, he needed petrol anyway. Maybe he could have sent back a text telling Sherlock to get the coke his own damned self, or he could have stopped somewhere else. Either way, stopping was what he did. 

The petrol station was empty aside from a few people. One thing John hadn’t expected was to find the blonde, yes the one from the first party John had attended, standing against the counter. Her hands were around a Mountain Dew, eyes on the telly across the counter. “Hey, you,” John said, tapping her shoulder. She turned some, a smile stretching across her face as she recognized John. “Friend ditcher.” 

John didn’t flinch at her words, he no longer flinched or even felt that twinge of guilt. Not anymore, maybe the ice had really seeped in too far. Had John forgotten himself? 

“What’re you doing?” blonde said, head slightly tilted to the right a bit as she looked at John’s appearance. His clothes seemed to have gone from a light colour to the darker palette of the Holmes. His blazer was buttoned halfway, jeans dark blue that was closer to black. Last the two had encountered, John had a much lighter coloured appearance Then again, so did the blonde. Her pale blue shirt was now grey with a dark red coat. John could hear Sherlock saying how the outfit belonged on a dog rather than a woman. He almost wanted to laugh at the face Sherlock would pull once the blonde had turned her face away, his tongue out and eyes scrunched up. Only at times when he was openly insulting an outfit behind someone did the placid boy ever show emotion. John had come close to being his dart board when the boy was bored, the fiery red dart landing inches above John’s head, maybe a blonde strand or two caught in the needle like point stuck into the wall. 

“I’m grabbing a drink for my friends. Party tonight,” John said, a nagging voice seemed to push hi to end the conversation and get to Jim’s house before the rapid fire text from the Holmes siblings came in. 

“Ah, the popular kids you left the mouse girl for,” the blonde slurped some Mountain Dew. 

“What’re you doing at a petrol station on a friday evening?” John asked, handing money over as the attendant rang up his soda. “And do you even have a name?” 

That got a laugh. “Of course I have a name. Mary Morstan,” she said, not offering a hand or anything, eyes glued to the telly. It was just the news, John noted, finding it rather odd to watch the news on a Friday night. “And I’m hiding from home,” she said, voice a little distant. 

“Hiding?” John seemed a bit interested. This blonde- Mary- with the icy eyes and soft voice, her hands were wrapped tightly around the Mountain Dew bottle. The closer John looked he noticed the black under her eyes, the slight redness to the underside of her jaw, hidden mostly by her cropped hair. 

“Yes, hiding. I won’t be in London long, moving. Dad’s a construction worker,” she said, chugged the Mountain Dew and tossed the empty bottle before grabbing another from the cold case and cracking it open. She got a glare from the attendant who was watching her wearily from behind the counter. 

“Does your mummy know you drink those?” John teased, smiling. 

“She used to when she was alive. Dad and I aren’t so civil without her, I learned how to cook and clean and he learned how to braid hair. Not that he did that much,” Mary just shrugged, drank and turned her gaze towards John for the first time since acknowledging John. He wanted to apologize but she flashed a smile. “Don’t you have a party to get to?” As if on cue, his phone began to buzz from his coat pocket. He grimaced a bit the sound of it, constant and hard. He knew it was Sherlock, Eurus - maybe even Mycroft as well. He pulled it out, typed a quick ‘I’m on my way,’ then turned to Mary. Her eyes were trained on the telly. 

“I have to go. Maybe we can meet up later?” He said, she just nodded simply and John left.

* * *

 

The house was full of people, did every top kid at school have a mansion? John started to believe that they really did. Jim had a pool, loud speakers and loads of alcohol. John wasn’t going to complain. Hours into the party and John was pretty well gone. Sherlock had disappeared, and now that he thought about it, so had the other two Holmes siblings. He didn’t have time to worry about that, he had some girl with red hair hanging onto him as she moved to the music. 

“John!” Molly’s voice cut over the music as she was trying to get his attention. “You came,” he said, a little surprised and worried. This used to be someone he called a friend, and now she had walked right into a trap. ‘A trap you laid,’ it wasn’t his mother, Sherlock or even his father’s voice, it was the blonde, Mary. Her voice cut through his drunken fog, but he knew she wouldn’t be at the party. He had given her a ride home, meeting her father as well. That in itself had been scary. 

“Yes, I did. Since Jim wrote that note, I thought maybe I should stop by and say hello,” she smiled, eyes glassy and dreamy. John could feel the Holmes siblings, their eyes and practically he could hear Eurus’s sharp whisper of “Coming here really took guts, time to rip them out, Jonnie boy.” He could feel Sherlock and Mycroft nod and the three would turn away to do whatever scheme they devised. 

“Have you seen JIm?” Molly asked, cutting John out of his mental play by play of the Holmes reaction to her being here. 

“Nope,” he said. It was a lie, he had said something about Freshmen jumping the fence to get into the party which got him off of some girl that had been telling him to go away. She just sneered, tilted her chin up and said she didn’t need his help. Deep down, he hadn’t done it for the girl- he knew how Eurus would be heartbroken if she saw Jim all over another girl. Sebastian had tried to step up but John shot a glare and he backed away.

“Oh. Enjoy the party! I’m going to look for Jim,” Molly turned from the crowd, out towards the backyard. John felt a twinge deep down when he spotted the Holmes trio out the glass door. Maybe it was his old self, maybe it was Mary, but John knew they had something bad planned. He had put up with them shoving kids into lockers, Sherlock insulting and revealing things about unsuspecting students and Mycroft just striking the fear of Holmes into each and every student. That in itself should have snapped John from his fame drunken stupor, but it didn’t. He had written enough fake signatures and letters that he had almost forgotten his own handwriting, maybe that should have been enough to snap him out of the icy Hell he was currently in. If high school really was Hell, he had not seen it until that moment. 

“Molly!” Outside, John heard Eurus’s shrill cry, the fake excitement she played when leading people close to the edge. The same edge John found himself at again, but this time he was walking towards the jagged rocks on his own terms. “How about you hit the pinata?” 

Sherlock had Molly still, tying the blindfold around the small girl’s eyes. Her face was crimson as Sherlock smiled wickedly, his sister appeared from the crowd. In her hands was a large mouse pinata, with a brown wig with ponytails and a pink backpack. John knew it was supposed to poke fun at her- the mouse resembling her mousy personality. Maybe John was snapping out of his fame clouded daze because he snapped. He ripped the pinata from Eurus’s hands, the two begining to fight over the cardboard creature for a bit before John drunkenly stumbled towards the pool with it. “If you want it so bad, swim for it,” it dropped from his hands, sinking and disappearing into the icy cold water. Mycroft stepped up then, “John.”

“No, do not ‘John’ me. You listen to me,” John started, words slurring a bit as he marched towards the Holmes trio. “I’m not some puppet.”

“Your name is done,” Eurus hissed, glaring. “Come monday, you will be done for.” Sherlock just shook his head. Mycroft tilted his chin up, “We rose you up and now, we will tear you down.”

John expected them to say more, but all the alcohol he had drank chose then to come up, on Mycroft. Maybe it was the nerves, the sudden regret of what he had done and said, but John turned and ran. He was out of the house before his drunken mind processed what had happened. “Oh God, I am dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be away for a few days. Sorry 


	4. Dead Man Walking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings, just in case.  
> Character death. Mentions of suicide. (technically)

‘Monday, 8 am,’ John’s slowly sobering brain laments. He wants to go back and apologize to the trio, save face before Monday. Maybe when everyone is sober and calm. John scrubs a hand down his face, ‘They’ll hunt me down in study hall, stuff and mount  me on the wall.’ He wants to cry, maybe scream. 

Walking along the buildings, he notices a window with the lights on. A familiar figure stands in front of the window, stripping off her sweater and tank top. ‘Here is an option I like,’ maybe Mary will know what to do. She could possibly scare the trio back and let him resume being a nobody again. She could stand up to him, tell him how to be his own man that his father raised him to be. What would his parents think if they knew the shit he had done just to be  a somebody? There wasn’t time to regret his past choices, John’s brain was still far too intoxicated to do anything about his mistakes. 

A few tossed rocks and the window that he had seen Mary in opened. “John? What are you doing?” 

“I am dead, can I come in?” John smiled up at the girl. She just nodded, pointing to the fire escape off to the right. It took John a few minutes to get up, stumbling only a few times. 

“What happened?” 

“The high school demon queen has decreed it, come Monday I am dead. I figured, you’re my last meal on death row. That is if it’s okay with you. I may be drunk but I am not pushy,” he blushed a bit at his rambling. Mary just laughed quietly, “Sounds good to me.” Despite being drunk and extremely inexperienced, Mary managed to make John forget his impending doom. By morning, maybe it would be okay. He couldn’t say by morning he would miss his virginity, or that he regretted meeting Mary, but by morning he did still regret puking on Mycroft. John realized, he really did see the Holmes trio as friends, maybe not good friends he should have, but he knew Sherlock better than he knew himself. He had laughed and taught Eurus how to do a handstand. He would chat about politics and art with Mycroft. He couldn’t just throw that away. 

“I need to go apologize,” John said the next morning, pulling on his jeans as Mary fished out a sweater from her closet. She gave him a shrug, “I’ll come with.”

For the first time in months, John used the tube and then hailed a cab, he and Mary chatting and laughing until they reached the Holmes Manor. The large brick preface was scarier now that he knew he most likely would not be welcome. He could see himself being thrown from the third story window, off the balcony that he often saw Lydia Holmes and Gregory Holmes sharing tea and stories of their days. There had been few days the Mister Holmes had been home, those days he would spend much time with his wife and then, in turns, with his children. After the third time John had met the man, he had began making time to meet and chat with John as well. Eurus would leave the balcony, fetch John from the sitting room and tell him ‘Father is waiting for you now.’ None of them seemed upset their father had accepted John as easily as he did. He would mostly use John to gather that his children had indeed behaved, John was a source of fact versus fiction. If Mr. Holmes asked a question and it did not line up with the story that one of the trio had said, he would ‘hmm’ lowly and smile, then later a child was called to his office and would usually return scowling at the firm scolding they received. Even Mycroft, who was 18, had gone into that office and returned with a scowl. 

‘Ah, John!” One of the maids had opened the door. “I am not sure if any of the children are home, I just got here.” The maid- her name escaped John, though he did know it was something from Spain because Sherlock had talked thoroughly about how the beautiful Spanish maid and his mother often went to town together. He would giggle and say not to tell his father. 

“That is fine, I need to grab some of my things,” he said, smiling. He didn’t bother introducing Mary, the maid wouldn’t acknowledge the blonde unless a Holmes introduced her. She just stepped aside, smiling warmly and leaving John to go about his own business as she did hers. Mary whispered to him sharply, “She didn’t even look at me.”

“I am not a Holmes, I cannot introduce you and so she cannot acknowledge you either. It is some rule they have. Sherlock said that when he brought Jim over, he didn’t introduce him to any staff so they never set a plate for him. Sherlock had found it funny how flustered guests get because of it,” John smiled a bit, remembering sitting on the couch in Sherlock’s room as they watched one of the Bond movies and Sherlock mentioned it because a maid that John hadn’t met entered and asked if Sherlock wanted any tea. Sherlock had turned pink with laughter when he told the story, his pink pajamas didn’t hold a candle to his face. John wanted to curse himself for thinking on all those memories when he knew they were currently ancient history. He would never sit out with Mister Holmes and talk about how Sherlock had almost blown up the chemistry lab, again. He would never greet the maids and doorman as they returned from school. He felt that icy block that was in his chest get tight, realizing he wouldn’t see Sherlock make faces at someone’s outfit on the telly, wouldn’t hear one of the three rattle off a deduction that the other kids would finish to some poor kid’s horror. He found pleasure hearing the three finish the other's’ sentences, how they could take one look and then know everything about a person. He hated how he enjoyed watching the trio humiliate someone. He hated how he had become a puppet to them, one point of a finger and John would leap across a table to snatch up some kid who made a rude remark towards one of the Holmes. He had his hands bandaged more times in the last few weeks than he had in all his life. He had become the source of fear for the Holmes, a fear that would smash you into a wall like jocks had done to him. He hated how he liked that people shied away from him now, even when he walked alone because the trio had somewhere else to go. 

“Mycroft?” John pushed open the Eldest door, finding the curtains drawn tight and the room dark as night. 

“Not so loud, John,” the voice hissed in response. John spotted the Elder in the bed, moving quietly towards the bed to speak softly. 

“I wanted to apologize,” he said quietly, scratching the back of his neck. “About last night.”

“That was an expensive shirt,” Mycroft responded, sitting up some to look at John. “But, I will be willing to forgive you if you make me something to get rid of this hangover.” John wanted to fist pump the air, shout, anything to express how happy he was getting his second chance. He nodded and left the room quietly. In the kitchen, there was a note on the fridge from the maid- Marina- “Had to go get groceries, Marina.” 

Mary watched as John began mixing things together to give to Mycroft, “You know what helps me get rid of a hangover?” 

John didn’t look at her as he continued to mix up the horrid concoction that Sherlock had taught him to mix. She placed a red cup next to the one John finished mixing. “Drain cleaner,” she laughed. “Dare you to give it to him.” 

“No, that’s terrible. Throw that out,” he said, turning fridge to put some things away. When he turned, he snatched up one of the red cups- the wrong cup, shaking his head at Mary. “He isn’t a bad person.”

Mary didn’t speak, just followed him back to the room. Mycroft groaned as light filled the room when John opened the door. “Thank you, John,” Mycroft took the cup and downed it quickly. John went to walk away when suddenly Mycroft retched. John realized then that it was the wrong cup. “Oh God,” he yelled, Mary entered the room then. “Call the police,” John said, turning to Mary. She just shook her head. 

“John, they won’t believe this is an accident. Write something,” she said, grabbing a book off of Mycroft’s shelf. ‘The Yellow Wallpaper,’ John had seen him reading it a few times, he had read it during his first year of high school and found it super depressing. “Think quick,” she said. 

John used to think that Eurus was a siren, but as he heard Mary explain that a suicide would prevent either of them from being suspected, he complied. 

“Now, what would he say?”

“Dear world,” John started, “I knew about fear, believe me or not. I knew how loneliness hurt. I hid behind smiles, my siblings and our power. But, even then, the world held me down. I wanted to be a better, good person. It weighed so heavily. No one thinks a rich kid has feelings. No one gets my insecurity. I am more than my family name and dress clothes.” He could hear Mycroft’s voice, “Jesus, you are making me sound so sappy.”

That afternoon, John was sitting with a crying Sherlock and Eurus, he even had tears in his own eyes. The two had called their parents who would be in sometime soon. The cause of death had been ruled a suicide by poison. John overheard the cops reading the suicide note in the yard, heard them note how well written and beautiful the words were. He found that made him cry harder, guilt and loss was painful. It ate at him, made him want to blame Mary, himself and even the trio for being such arse holes to everybody. Now, the fake words of Mycroft, how he died a martyr for people with popularity and depression. John could feel Mycroft shaking his head at him, tsking him “You made my name a legend, for what? That little girlfriend of yours? Do you think she is as trustworthy as you believe?” He wanted to close his eyes, look away from the Mycroft with blood in his mouth and still in his black sweats. He had wished he had looked closely at the cup before handing it over. Wished he hadn’t stopped the two males from going to detention. He wished high school wasn’t so cruel that he had to sell his morals to gain a name. “Stop pushing yourself so bad,” he could feel Mycroft place a hand on his shoulder, “You cannot change the past, no reason to sulk. Be there for my siblings, you twat.” 

John had to bite back cursing at the imaginary Mycroft. Sherlock and Eurus had left the room to talk to the police and the staff. “Why did you and your siblings take me in?” he asked the empty room, or at least to anyone else it would be empty. John’s guilt ridden mind saw Mycroft leaned against the wall, nonchalantly cleaning under his already clean fingernails. “You have promise,” Mycroft’s seeming to be ghost responded. “That is until you killed me. Congrats on that convincing note, you really have done a great job. You’ll be at the top before you know it.” He wanted to scream at him about how he didn’t want to be popular. He wanted to go back to being a nobody. “Don’t say it,” Mycroft said, stepping away from the wall. “Just comfort my siblings. Eurus is a pest, and she will be sad.” 

John moved from his seat, leaving the room to go and locate the duo. They sat on the balcony on the third story, video cam set up as they sobbed to their parents. John felt a new wave of tears as he took in their broken voices and the parents’ cries as they listened to the children read the suicide note. The note itself spanned many pages, Mycroft’s handwriting was loopy and large, yet the letter were tight. John’s hand was still cramped from writing everything, including a quick will towards the end. John caught Sherlock’s broken voice as he read the ending words, “Maybe I can help the world by leaving. Now you’ll see the me inside of me.” John heard Lydia let out a sob, saw her cling to her husband. “How is John taking it all?” 

He jumped, he hadn’t expected Gregory to ask about him. John moved a bit closer to hear, but not be seen. “He is pretty broken… I think he feels guilty,” Eurus said softly. “He was the one that found Mike. We wouldn’t have found him for a while if John hadn’t stopped by. Oh, mummy, we really hurt John.” 

“What did you do, bunny?” Lydia asked softly, drying her tears to listen to the confession her children were offering. 

“We were going to be mean to his old friend, but he got mad and stopped us. Mike and I said we wo-would never b-be his friend again. Sherlock told him to leave and J-jonnie ran away. M-mikey felt really bad he was going to call Jonnie and a-apologize but Sher and I said n-no. Jonnie came back this morning and apologized,” Eurus said, her voice breaking occasionally. John realized then that they felt it was because John had run from the party that Mycroft had offed himself. He wanted to cry again, even more guilt flooding him. 

“It is okay, bunny. Sher, make sure Bunny is okay and also make sure John is okay. Tell him that if he would like, he can use the emergency phone to contact his parents. I am certain your father can pull strings to get them both some leave to make sure their son is okay,” Lydia said, her voice strong and steady although John knew she would cry as soon as the camera was gone. 

“Yes mummy,” Sherlock said, nodding his head. “We love you,” both remaining Holmes said to their parents before Sherlock closed the laptop. “Come on Eurus, we have to be strong. Mike wouldn’t want us to be weak,” his voice was so soft John struggled to hear it. 

He couldn’t take this. John, once again, ran from the Holmes. He found the car they let him use and tore out of the yard, driving towards Mary’s house. He needed answers, he needed to know what he was asking. He needed a distraction. “Running to my killer?” 

John almost screamed. “Stop doing that, you are dead!” He yelled at the man in the passenger seat. “Shouldn’t you be haunting your siblings, making them feel better?” 

“John, they didn’t kill me. That little girlfriend you are running to is the one that killed me.” 

“She didn’t kill you, I did,” John said, eyes glued to the road. 

“No, she wanted me dead. You just grabbed the wrong cup,” Mycroft said, propping his feet against the dash. “I wouldn’t have dared putting my feet up like this when I was alive. So uncouth,” Mycroft’s ghost laughed. “We are going to get so close.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bye bye Mycroft, I honestly do feel bad that you had to die. - me, probably Mary?  
> Poor John. Ghosts, man.


	5. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sorry for the longish wait*  
> Kind of a bit tough... SO, Trigger warning, First, some gay stuff obviously (that isn't triggering) but implied date rape scenario. It was a bit tough for me to write this chapter, even though there is not actually a rape, but the implications...  
> I may have cried a bit, and started to regret killing Mycroft.

John sat with Eurus in their shared math class. She was writing the equations quickly, explaining at the same time how to apply the- as she put it- simple math to work in real life and on paper. John actually found it helpful, the dark haired girl spouting about how finding the distance a comet travels in so many seconds can be measured using a conic section to judge the distance from two points basing it on the position of a certain constellation that is nearest when it comes into sight. But, maybe he just sucks at math and needs something interesting to relate the subject to. 

“You seem… better,” he whispered, nudging her with the end of his pencil. She just simply shrugged and held up the cuff on her wrist, “Sherlock doesn’t know I took Mike’s cufflinks.”

The response was so simple, but it made John’s blood run cold. Mycroft had successfully been replaced. “I hadn’t thought Eurus would get the title of top dog,” Mycroft’s ghost threw at him, laughing, “You should take them from her. You seem much more willing to take out the competition.” John fought the urge to scream at the ghost of Mycroft who was, quite literally, haunting him. He had almost grown used to seeing the Eldest leaned against a wall or adding comments to John’s conversations. It was now an everyday thing for the past 3 weeks. Mycroft even had the audacity to comment that his own funeral was dull and suggested John scream something obscene. 

“Weren’t those in his locker?” John asked, thoroughly ignoring the Eldest’s remarks. 

“Yep, I got them before Sher,” she said, eyeing the garnets that now studded her cuffs. Sherlock had yellow diamonds in simple yellow gold fastings. John had been given sapphires with a blue tinted silver. Eurus had green jade with green tinted silver. Each had their position, their place in the status quo. Now, Eurus was running the place and word had already spread seeing as her once dark blazer was replaced with a deep maroon coloured blazer. Sherlock had even changed, his usual navy blue button ups replaced by deep green shirts- “British Racing green,” Sherlock had explained. 

“What now?” he asked, glancing to where the ghost had been standing. 

“Now, you get new cufflinks and we return to our lives.” 

Never had a phrase been so wrong. Eurus was ruthless, unmerciful and just plain vicious. More often than not, some poor girl had run off crying, some guy had to go to the nurse because his family jewels were hurt. John was terrified, to be honest. He thought before that high school had been Hell, but now it was worse. He felt as if he was at war. His job as prime instigator through so many letters that his hand cramped was pushing to the point he would have rather typed all the letters. Eurus had more than once threatened to strip him of his colours and send him to the dogs. 

“You have to stop this, she is going to ruin my wonderful system,” Mycroft screeched one afternoon as John was pacing in Sherlock’s room. The ebony haired boy had barely entered the room, he was torn apart about Mycroft. Sherlock spent more than a few nights in his older brother’s room, crying into the blankets. By morning, when John would wake him for school, he had covered it with a sardonic mask. His icy exterior had expanded and not even Lydia had been able to get into it. 

“I can’t,” John cried at the ghost, cursing himself for being so loud. “You are dead and I do not have the power to overthrow the new queen of high school.”

“Aww, you considered me queen?” Mycroft laughed some, waving a hand. “You will figure it out, if you aren’t going to stop seeing that killer then maybe you can work harder to console my brother dearest.”

John cursed himself, cursed Mycroft’s ghost, and even cursed Mary. He knew he shouldn’t see her, but he did. She had joined his school around the time of the funeral. She was distant, except towards John who was distant towards her more often than not. Sex had become frequent, along with the texts and calls he received from her. Why was he still seeing her when he knew she was a killer? Honestly, John couldn’t say. Part of him was truly in love with Mary. Most of him kind of feared her.

“My brother is coming, better to not be caught talking to the dead man,” then Mycroft was gone. Blink of an eye. Sherlock entered then, eyes red and lip swollen from how he worried it. 

“Hey, Sher,” John said softly. “Want to watch a film?” He was still choked up by the beauty of Sherlock, his grace and intelligence. He had forced himself to ignore how badly he wanted to hold the taller boy, how he found himself sitting closer to on the couch when they watched films. He had Mary, he was straight, his parents would like Mary. 

“Yea,” Sherlock said softly, dragging a blanket from his bed and over to the couch. John settled in and Sherlock curled up against his side. “Do you think Mike is happy?” the question was soft and a bit heart wrenching. 

“No,” Mycroft chose then to pop up, “I miss my baby siblings. I miss messing your hair up, brother dearest. I wish you could hear me say I miss you. I will watch over you, Eurus, too.” 

John took a deep breath, tears stinging his own eyes at Mycroft’s words, how the Elder leaned in front of his baby brother and waved a hand through his unruly curls. “I’m positive he is, and isn’t.”

Sherlock’s silvery eyes looked up at John, asking what he meant with just a look. 

“I bet he misses you and Eurus. He probably misses messing up your hair and fussing over you when you don’t eat. He’s watching over you, I know it,” John messed up Sherlock’s hair, causing the depressed boy to crack a small smile while his cheeks tinted. 

There was a ringing, John’s phone playing Emperor's New Clothes by Panic! At The Disco- Eurus. He snatched the phone up, wondering why she was calling if she was just in the house upstairs. “J-john?”

“Bunny, are you okay?”

“I- Jimmy and Seb, John please come to the cemetery,” Eurus cried, the line dropping shortly after. John was up in a flash, grabbing his coat and keys. 

“I will be right back,” he told Sherlock, who was watching him with bright eyes, worried eyes, tired eyes. “Get some rest.”

He was out the door, racing to the car and peeling out of the driveway so fast he could hear the tires squeal. The cemetery was not too far, close to the school. When he pulled into the cemetery, he was met with James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran, standing outside of the black car that Eurus no doubtedly was inside. “Jonnnie,” Jim called, laughing. “You are looking pretty fine,” Seb called. 

“Drunk,” John muttered to himself. “Go away,” he called to them, making his way to the car. “Eurus, are you okay?”

In the car, Eurus clung to Irene Adler, both girls looking frightened and teary eyed. “Open the door,” he called, knocking on the window. 

“No,” both girls screamed, shaking so hard that the entire car almost shook. John wanted to scream at them to open the door. “Bunny, seriously, open the door,” John pleaded to Eurus through the closed window. Once he realized they would not open the door for him to get them out, he turned and sighed. 

Jim and Seb were drunk, John could deduce that easily. He could also deduce that both males had made passes at the girls in the car that they did not like, and judging from Irene’s torn blouse, had been forceful with it. So, John stepped up. “Oh, Jonnie,” Sebastian said, practically purring the name as he moved forward with half his usual grace. The blonde would usually move like a panther stalking its prey, not he looked like some dog trying to get a bone. Which, he could be called that. Seb put his hands on John’s jacket, “Isn’t it kind of hot out here?” 

John pushed him back, “No. Go away.” 

Jim moved close and leaned on Seb, “Come on Jonnie. Just strip down and we can take turns riding that ass of yours.” He had a sick, drunken smile. His dark eyes were even darker and foggy from the alcohol. Seb laughed, tilting his head to the side in a way that John saw many girls fawn over. “Come on, John. Help a man out.” 

“You used to be such a wimpy no body,” Jim said, eyeing John like some prey he couldn’t wait to bite into. “But now, I would give anything to bend you over and fuck you into the ground.” Sebastian nodded, blue eyes narrowed in on John. 

“Come on, John. You’re making my balls so blue,” Jim said, his voice feigning desperation. “Ever since Mycroft left, no one has been here to give poor Sebastian here a hand.” Both drunk boys laughed at the pun. “Bet you could do ten times better.” 

“Hey, look,” John pointed to the field of graves behind them, “Alcohol!” Both drunken boys turned eagerly. When they realized there was no alcohol to be had, they turned back to John- who had moved closer. 

“Hey, there is no alcohol,” Jim said, not noticing John had moved closer. Seb started to say something when John’s hand came up and smacked him across the face hard enough to send him to the ground. Jim looked startled before John did the same to him, both were too drunk to really stand up and the hit was enough to knock any sober person to the ground. Both were unconscious when John moved back to the car containing two trembling girls. 

“Come on, bunny,” John said, motioning for them to get out of the car. Slowly, they did comply and climb into the black car John had driven. He didn’t ask questions, only let Eurus and Irene sit in the front. Eurus curled up against his side, her shoulders shook softly as she cried. John handed Irene his coat, letting her cover the tear in her black blouse. Her eyeliner had run streaks down her face, maroon lipstick smeared to the left of her face- but John didn’t comment. He let both girls weep as he drove slowly back to the manor. 

“Thanks, John,” Eurus said softly, sniffling. “I thought we were just going to go out. But they brought us to the cemetery instead and started to drink. Irene had some to drink and she didn’t look to good, so I said I wanted to leave but they were too drunk. Then Seb pulled grabbed Irene’s top…” She let out a sob, trying to continue the story. 

“Did either of you get hurt?” John asked, glancing from the road to the battered girls. Irene had dirt on her cheek, probably a light bruise as well but he couldn’t tell in the dark car. 

“N-no. Irene kicked Seb and we got into the car. Jim pulled my hair when we started to run, but I got away from him before he got close,” Eurus said, letting out a shaky breath. “I think Irene is drugged.”

When he parked the car he moved to let Irene out. She was slumped rather heavily on the door, but her eyes followed John as he lifted her up bridal style. “Alright, Irene, can you hear me?” 

“Y-ye,” she breathed heavily, lips trembling. 

“Can you see how many fingers I have up?” He moved one hand around her, holding up 3 fingers away from her face. 

“Si-six,” She muttered, face contorting into discomfort as she squinted at his hand. 

“Alright, I will look at you a bit more in the house. From what I can see now, you were drugged but not a lot. It is already starting to fade since you can talk- sort of,” John explained as he shifted her in his arms to move into the doorway without bumping into it. Eurus was close behind, gripping the back of his shirt fiercely. Sherlock was at his laptop, tapping away as the three entered the room. He turned and gasped, moving to his little sister so fast his chair toppled over. 

“Eurus,” he said, moving her face this way and that. John laid Irene on the couch, moving to Sherlock’s bathroom and grabbing a rag to clean her face. When he came back, Eurus was hugging Sherlock but not speaking.

John cleaned the makeup and dirt off of Irene’s face, wetting her hair a bit and pushing it out of her face. “Alright, I am going to test some of your reflexes.” He tapped her knees and got little to no response. He used the torch on his phone to test her pupils; the response was so slow he felt bad for shining the light in her eyes. Next he looked in her mouth and in her eyes, noting the redness to her eyes and how her tongue seemed to be white. 

“Okay, so you are drugged,” He said, watching his watch as he counted her pulse. It was fast, a little faster than he liked. “But, I think by morning you will be alright.” He stood after mentally noting her pulse rate and other slow vitals. “Eurus, let me check you.”

Sherlock looked over, “John, how do you know so much about this?”

“I want to be a doctor,” he admitted as Eurus sat beside Irene’s slumped form. “My mother is a doctor in the military, my father a commander. I want to be like them, helping people.” He ran the same simple tests on Eurus, realising her response time was just barely faster than Irene. “Okay, bunny, you seem to have drugs in your system too. Not as much as Irene, luckily. By morning, I am sure you both will be fine. Might not remember this night, though,” John delivered his prognosis then stood from his kneeled position. Sherlock looked a bit horrified at hearing his sister having been drugged but neither boy wished to discuss the activities of the night. 

When John went to sleep, he knew he was going to regret knocking Jim and Sebastian out. He heard Mycroft tsking, “Be careful, John.” 


	6. Our Love Is God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit gonna get real, guys/gals/people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People are going to die...   
> Well.... THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE DO!   
> *kills off like the few characters I was wanting to see have some kind of redemption* FUck PlOts. KilL TheM ALl. (No, seriously, people do die but there is a plot. I hate myself for writing this right now)

Monday was worse than Hell. As John had suspected, neither girl had memory of the night he picked them up. No one really spoke of the events, even ghost Mycroft didn’t bring it up when John had seethed about it in the courtyard. John seemed to be the only one that cared that, firstly, two girls had been in danger and, secondly, the would-have-been assaulters had made passes at him. “I’m not gay!” He had screamed at Mycroft, who had leaned against a tree nonchalantly. The ghost said nothing, only chuckled and shook his head slightly. 

But, Monday. Oh, Monday. 

As payback for knocking both rugby players out, John’s name was to be destroyed in a way even the Holmes kids could not fix. 

Jim was leaned against a locker, a group of people around him and Sebastian Moran. “Then, he had both of us in his mouth,” he was saying when John and Sherlock had passed. “At the same time!” Sebastian added, making a gesture with his hands to show just how John had supposedly had both of them. The group just gasped. One girl, a cheerleader, had whispered to her friend about how apparently John had done some obscene things with the two boys in the cemetery. Word spread like wildfire. John was no longer invisible or shied away from due to his status with the Holmes kids. He was now the gay who had taken two rugby players at once. Sherlock and Eurus didn’t try to stand up for him, Sherlock would only make it worse seeing as he was gay, and Eurus was afraid to say anything. John was mortified. Mycroft didn’t even come by to add to his horrid taunting. 

By the time school let out, John had had enough. He was out of the building, leaving Sherlock and Eurus to go to the Manor while he practically ran back to his apartment. His home. The place he had spent almost every weekend, spent his nights reading medical books and studying for the next maths test. Inside, the air was cool and the lights were off. He sank to the floor in the small hall, letting the tears he had fought for so long finally fall. Tears for Mycroft, for Eurus, for Sherlock and for Lydia, tears for his parents off in the military and tears for himself. He cried over the lies that were tearing his name and all he had done to one simple fact, one label would demolish all he had made for himself. He wouldn’t be looked at as John. He would be looked at through some kind of haze, no one would be able to see past the simple word Gay that now branded his skin. He had fought the word, hid it as far from him as possible. 

Being with Sherlock had made that word seem to be an everyday thing to him. Before, he would have looked at it as his father had. He would have wanted to carve the word out of his thoughts and off of his heart. But, as the tears seemed to drip down his chin and onto his knees that were pulled up to his chest, John thought about how much of that word really applied to him. 

He slept in the same bed as another boy. He would stroke his hair and cheek while they watched movies together. He found himself admiring more than Sherlock’s intellectual abilities, found him admiring the delicate edges of the ebony haired boy’s shoulders. How his hips were sharp yet perfectly delicate. John found himself noticing how he loved when Sherlock would be lost in thought and tilt his head back, exposing his throat column. 

John wanted to curse himself as he thought of these things, how they only made his tears fall harder. His sobs were the only sound in the empty house. Maybe if he hadn’t been crying, he would have heard the window in the back open. He would have heard the footsteps, despite how light they were. 

“They made you cry,” Mary said, voice soft as she draped her coat over John’s shaking shoulders. “Don’t worry, John,” she whispered, watching him with soft blue eyes, “That is never going to happen again. This will end.” John heard her words then, wiping his eyes. 

“I love you,” Mary said, back to him, “I love you more than anything. I would do anything to never see you be hurt again. I worship you. I think you are so beautiful, so wonderful and perfect. We can start and finish wars, John. That is what we will do, finish this war.” 

John stood, looking at the blonde girl with a questioning gaze. 

“We can scare them,” she said, smiling. John was a little unnerved by the smile on her lips, but said nothing of it. Too lost in his grief to truly care. 

“Here is my plan,” she looked into his eyes, then pulled out a gun. A Sig, like his father’s. “We will fill this with tranquilizer bullets. You will lure them out and we will shoot them. Then, we leave them. Exposed.” She pulled out a few bullets, putting them into her gun. “Here.” She pulled another gun from her purse. John was a bit horrified by the number of guns she carried, but he wouldn’t dare say a word. She was so loving, she was willing to tranquilize a few guys to make him feel better. She loved him. 

* * *

 

John stared at his lap as the phone rang. “Hello,” Jim’s voice carried through the receiver. 

“Jim? Its John,” he said in the sweetest voice he could muster. 

“Oh, hey,” was the simple response. John could hear a bit of shuffling so he deduced that Sebastian was with him. 

“How did you know I have always wanted to have sex with two guys at once?” John asked, trying to sound sweet and not cringy. There was a brief pause. 

“Lucky guess. You have that look,” Jim responded, the sound shifted a bit. John wanted to cringe, to hang up and tell Mary her joke was stupid. 

“How about you and Sebastian meet me at the cemetery and we can make that dream a reality,” John said in the nicest, sexiest voice he could. He saw Mary smile, giving a thumbs up. Jim agreed, saying they would be there at midnight. Then, John hung up as fast as he could. He wanted to screw this stupid plan. Wanted Mary to leave so he could wallow in his self pity. But, she moved close to him. Her hand on his chin, she smiled, “Our love is God. I worship you and nothing will ever hurt you again.” John ignored all the red flags in his mind, all the side comments that Mycroft had made before about her being a killer. 

Midnight rolled around much faster than John expected. He had sat in the cemetery since about 10, watching the stars and visiting graves before the pair showed up at midnight. 

“So, what do we do?” Sebastian asked him. John did his best to look nervous, but that wasn’t hard. “Do we just… whip it out?” Jim asked, moving closer to where John was standing. His leather jacket fit snugly around him, keeping out the chilly air. 

“Take it slow, Jim. Strip for me,” he said, flipping a bit of his hair from his eyes. He hadn’t had Sherlock to keep it all in place so the neatly trimmed pieces were beginning to fall into his eyes. Seb and Jim nodded, removing their clothes. John tried to look interested, tried to look like he enjoyed watching them remove their clothes. Deep down, that part he spent so long burying, it did enjoy watching. But, he pushed it aside by remembering what they did to him. 

“What about you?” Jim asked once they were both completely undressed. John could give them props, they were not bad looking. 

“I was thinking... “ he struggled for words, an excuse really, “you could take my clothes off for me,” he finally managed, giving an innocent smile. Both boys shrugged okay. “On the count of three,” John said, hands behind his back in a way that almost made him look innocent and childlike. 

The nude boys nodded and went to move closer. “One,” John said, giving them a sweet smile. His hand went around the gun Mary had given him. “Two,” he prepared to pull it out. He was a fast mover, he could strike one before they got closer. “Three,” Mary said, stepping out of the woods and shoot Sebastian. John had shot at Jim but missed, being startled by the spray of blood from Sebastian. His eyes went wide and Jim yelled, turning to run. Mary cussed and chased him into the woods, dodging graves and tree roots. 

“Sebastian,” John said, moving to the still boy on the ground. “Sebastian, tell me you are alive.” He didn’t have to touch him to know the shot through his chest had hit his heart. He had been dead before hitting the ground. “Oh, God,” he cried, moving backwards. Ice filled his veins as he realized what had happened, that Mary had planned this the entire time. He ran to stop Mary. 

“Mary, stop!” he cried, finding Jim halfway up the wrought iron fence and Mary zeroing in on him. 

“No, John. We can start the world anew. We can rebuild the world. We have to kill the dinosaurs to make room for the new people. This menace to society is no good,” she cried, pointing the gun at Jim. John wanted to stop her, but what if the gun was turned on him. 

“Our love is God,” she said softly, Jim was yelling about letting him go, about how they killed his best friend. John moved a bit closer, eyes squeezed shut. The silenced shot made him jump, then Jim’s body hit the ground. Mary let out a breath, “They had to die.” 

* * *

 

The next day, the school was sorrow filled and quiet. The bodies of both Sebastian Moran and James Moriarty had been found with a suicide letter. “In a world where our love could not be accepted, we decided the only place we could freely be together was in the world of death. We chose to die instead of have to tell our families about our secret love. Neither of us wished to disappoint our families,” the letter had said. John had seen Molly wipe her silent tears away, the fake love note folded up and in her book. He touched her shoulder as she scribbled on a page in her notebook. “I think,” she whispered, “I figured something out, John.” She looked up at him, letting the page be seen. To John’s horror, there were lines and names and dates scribbled in little boxes. 

“Have you noticed that creepy new girl? Mary? She came just around the time all these deaths started,” she whispered so softly John barely heard her. “Look,” she turned the notebook a little, pointing to the first date the Mary had been in London. She tapped the page then ran her pencil down a line, to the date Mycroft was found dead. Then, she ran along the line to the funeral, then to the day Mary had come to school. She put her pencil on the date that the fake stories about John sleeping with both Sebastian and James went out, then the day they died. She looked at him with bright eyes. "I need your help to get into her locker, there may be a clue."    
  


“James wouldn’t kill himself. Not because he was gay, John. He wrote me such a sweet love letter. Look,” she unfolded it again and showed John the page, his page. “I think Mary is writing fake letters to cover up these murders.” She whispered the one sentence that made John’s blood run cold. 

“If your little killer finds out about how close Molly is, she will be next. You might as well get rid of her now to protect her,” Mycroft said and this time, John agrees. He understands just how dangerous Mary is, how she is so willing to kill anyone. She killed Mycroft and two other boys, all were of big names. What would stop her from shooting poor Molly? John didn't think he could stomach any more blood on his hands. 

“Molly… James didn’t write that letter. I did. I… I wanted to be friends with the Holmes and they said we could no longer be friends so I wrote you that letter. James didn’t even know about it. He never wrote anything to you,” John says. He tries not to sound apologetic. He tries his best to sound pitying so Molly will be hurt and leave. He tries not to reach out as fresh tears run down her pale cheeks. “You, John Watson, are terrible. How could you be so…” She ran out of the classroom, leaving John to calm his inner emotions before they overwhelm him. The teacher comes in and explains that the school will be holding a grief session for all of the school in the gym. “Oh, what fun,” Mycroft says, looking at John with an almost sad look. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got me pretty emotional.   
> WHOS GONNA DIE NEXT?! *throws dart at spinning wheel* 
> 
> Well, then... Tune in next time for "Who am I going to kill off next?!"


	7. Shine A LIght

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, this one got me a bit... Enjoy.   
> Oh, Trigger Warnings, just in case: Mentions of suicide (but I mean, there is a lot of that) And a sad Sherlock.   
> Also, I tried to edit it to be sure my English is right but I got a little emotional over my own story, so I couldn't edit as well as I would have liked.

The grief counseling was … John sat next to some people he didn’t know because Eurus and Sherlock had to sit by the guidance counselor. Sherlock’s face was even paler in the light of the gym. Eurus stared ahead, not really taking in everything around her. John shivered a bit, knowing that of the trio, the two remaining Holmes kids were not as close as everyone thought. Now that Mycroft, their only shared ground, was gone, all Hell seemed to go on between the duo. John was left to be the mediator. 

Now, the two sat beside one another, shoulders almost brushing as the grief counselor Sally Donovan talked about how they needed to let out their feelings. 

“Now, I know you all are having feelings deep down. All these angry feelings, this deep sadness that makes you think life is unbearable. I know, life is hard. Now, you cannot hold all this in. You need to express it. You there, would you share?” The girl with large rimmed glasses named Jenny shook her head, refusing to speak up. Donovan just shrugged, “I will share first then.” 

“My name is Sally Donovan. I live alone in a flat with two cats. I tried to change the world at one point, barely did anything. I joined a cult. I shaved my head once. I am sleeping with a married man, who, I am now ending that with. Wow, feels so much better admitting that.”

No one said anything still, then Sherlock sat forward. 

“Ever since my brother died… I know so many people, I know I have done so much wrong to some of the people here. I hide behind my siblings, they can face all the wrong our name is associated with. I always do as I am told, I do. I mean it, I try so… so fucking hard,” he let out a shaky breath. John leaned forward, listening to Sherlock’s quiet words as if his life depended on it. 

“I can’t take it, Eurus. Who made you boss? You just think all the time that you were even equal to Mycroft. You weren’t, you aren’t. Mother and Father fight all the time, you are no help. You think you know it all and can do what Mycroft did. If… if it wasn’t for you, Mycroft would be alive. Now, I am stuck, all alone in the middle of the mess You made. Mycroft would never have wanted to hurt people like you do,” Sherlock was suddenly standing, shoulders visibly shaking and John knew there were tears in the foggy green eyes. 

Eurus stood and shoved Sherlock back, glaring. “You’re so pitiful. Why can’t you move on? Mycroft didn’t even like you. I was the baby sister, he loved me. Mother and Father only fight because you’re a crying mess all the time. Anyone here could wear that blazer and be a better Holmes than you!” She glared at her older brother and John bit back his fear. “You think because you have ONE friend outside of the family that people like you? No one likes you! Mycroft is lucky, he doesn’t have to deal with you and your faggot self!” John flinched as the one word Sherlock hated more than plaid with spots was stuck to him. He could see Sherlock crumble inside, his heart shattering for the ebony haired boy. The crowd began to laugh loudly, somehow that one word just brought humour to the entire ordeal. 

Ms. Donovan didn’t say anything as the whole ordeal went to complete and utter, for lack of a better term, shit. John marched through the seats, looking for Sherlock but finding he had vanished. “How could you?” He snapped at Eurus. “That is your brother! Just a few days ago, you two were crying together! How could you say that utter shit about him? You, Eurus, are terrible.” He took a deep breath, “I killed him. I killed James and Sebastian as well. They weren’t suicides.” Eurus just laughed, “Now you are telling lies for attention. You are no better than he is.” John wanted to hit her for not believing him, but instead left the gym that had erupted into a sort of riot. Eurus left right after, heading another way down the hall. 

“The bathroom,” Mycroft hissed as John ran through the halls. He spotted the bathroom he had first met the Holmes boys in. He shoved through the door. Sherlock sat on the floor, shaking hands trying to open a bottle of medicine. John recognized the bottle as Lydia’s sleeping pills. “Sherlock, no,” John took the bottle and dropped to the floor next to Sherlock.

“She’s right. Mycroft and I weren’t even that close.” 

“Oh, shut up. Mycroft loves you. He loves both you and Eurus, even if she is a demon. Listen to me, I care a lot about you. I care about your family as well. I know your family is going through a lot right now, but this isn’t going to help,” John said softly, stroking curls and damp cheeks. “Taking your own life, what kind of phrase is it? It is your own life, who the hell are you taking it from? You don’t take your life away from anyone, you take your presence away from everyone that cared. Now, take your hands off it. Do not even think about it, okay? Your life is not your own. Too many people would miss you if you were gone, do you hear me?” 

Sherlock just nodded, “I’m ready to go home.” John nodded and helped him to the hall. A few people were in the halls now, Mary was one. She was leaned against the wall across from the bathroom, watching John and Sherlock through narrowed eyes. John could feel the ice from her gaze. “I need to talk to you,” the look said what her mouth didn’t. She wouldn’t dare approach when he was with the Holmes. 

John took Sherlock home and then promised to be back. He left for his apartment but his phone rang half way from the Manor. “Here is an option,” Mary said, not even a hello. 

“Not even a hello? WOW, she is cold hearted,” Jim said, feet propped up on the dash. 

“Guess the cold ones are always a fun fu-” 

“What?” John ignored the new ghost that seemed to taunt him even more than Mycroft had. 

“Eurus,” she says. John didn’t let hit eye stray from the road, knowing good and well that Mycroft was now in the passenger seat while the bruised and bloody ghost of Jim and Sebastian sat in the back. “She seems to be causing such a mess. I mean, she even hurt her poor brother. Look, here is what I am gathering, John,” there was a bit of shuffling then Mary continued, “once James and Sebastian were found and after their fathers released the statement that they didn’t care if their sons were gay, they are opening a gay suicide prevention foundation. We are helping the world, John!” 

John stopped the car and got out, heading into his apartment. “Look, Mary, I need to talk to you. Can you come by my apartment?” He hung up, not wanting to talk to her on the phone. 

John was pacing the floor of the sitting room when Mary walked in, navy blue sweater and black scarf around the lower portion of her face. “John,” she smiled. 

“Mary. I just,” John stepped back from her, “You need to stop this.”

“Stop what John? I am making the world a better place! So what it costs a few lives here and there? Society isn’t going to change until it sees that it needs to. People like Eurus Holmes are people holding society back.” 

“What does Eurus have to do with any of this? So, she is going through a tough time. She is bloody 15, Mary!” John had seen the Holmes trio be sweet and nice, he knew they were capable of it. He knew that when under stress, the three could easily turn violent on each other. “Eurus is hurting. She needs help, not death.”

“People get hurt, John, that is life! She cannot use a scrap on the knee as an excuse to be a massive bitch!” Mary was yelling, shaking even. 

“This isn’t an argument, Mary. Calm down,” John stepped back again. They say love is blinding. John didn’t think he loved Mary that much to be as blind as he was. He knew one thing for certain though. 

When the same Sig that had shot James Moriarty in cold blood just a week before was pointed at him, that fog or haze or Hell, blindfold was gone. 

Gone was Mary with pretty soft blonde hair and sky blue eyes with a kind smile. The girl in her place was cold, calculating and just unstable. Her eyes were no longer warm, instead fogged over with hatred and anger- not at John, at the fact he was in the way now. “I thought you saw how good this was,” Mary said, hands steady on the gun. “I thought you saw we were making a change in the world! You and me.” 

“Mary, you are completely, entirely, bloody MAD. This, whatever it was, it is over. I never want to see or hear from you again. Get the Hell out of my apartment,” John yelled, slapping the gun from his face. Sure, he was scared pissless, but he wouldn’t admit that. He wouldn’t tell that to anyone. Ever. Mary stepped back, dazed. 

“You don’t mean that,” Mary said, eyes going soft as her hand dropped. 

“I do. Get out or I am calling the police.” Mary did, she left. 

“Well, that was bloody stupid,” Mycroft said, looking at John. “She could have very well shot you.” 

“Man, she was kind of hot when she was yelling,” Sebastian added, James and he nodding. 

“Shut up, all of you,” he snapped, returning to pacing. 

* * *

 

Little did John know, Molly wasn’t the only one doing some digging. Mary approached Eurus, who was hanging with Irene at the school since, technically, it never did let out. “So,” Mary said, smiling warmly, “Eurus Holmes.” 

“Yes. And you are?” Her calculated gaze could tell exactly who she was. John’s scarf was enough to prove one thought. Eurus recognized her as the girl she had drunkenly fought. “You’re the girl John had a thing for.” 

“Mary, but that is besides the point. I have some… sensitive information I am certain you wouldn’t wish got out. I just need a favor from you,” Mary said, leaning casually against the wall. Eurus could almost compliment her confidence. But, that was what Mycroft or even Sherlock would have done and she is not her brothers. All nice comments stay to herself. Instead, she just listened as Mary talked. 

“A Miss Molly Hooper ring any bells?”

Irene gave a short laugh, “That mouse? What does she have to do with anything?” 

Eurus raised an eyebrow. Mary just smiled some, “We should speak in private.”

* * *

 

Maybe it was just a bad day to have all the drama going on. One Holmes was getting the school together for a large party to be held in the gym, signatures all signed on a pretty little paper. One Holmes sitting alone in his room watching James Bond as his phone seemed to go off with alerts. One Watson pacing his apartment as three ghost berate him for not seeing sooner. And one Morstan plotting the most… explosive celebration the school has ever seen. Maybe if everything hadn’t have been happening all at once, Someone would have noticed little Molly Hooper alone on the bridge. Someone besides a few passing cars would have seen her look down below, paper that said good bye on the rail as she hopped over. But, everyone was so busy- who noticed the poor heartbroken girl that didn’t know how to swim jump into the water? 

No one noticed the car pull up outside of John’s apartment, or how Sherlock changed and headed back to school. No one saw Mary tuck the gun away or how her phone lit up with an alert. No one saw Eurus coaxing the teachers to agree to the celebration. 

Well, we saw no one saw. But they did, they just did not observe, my dear. 


	8. Yo Boi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop has been taken by my parents so I had to get my Google Docs on the phone to get my written chapter. I have like, 2 pre written?   
> Not much more to go, lovelies.

John was in the middle of yanking his hair, arguing with three ghosts and pacing when the front door of his flat opened. “Mary, I swear to God if that is yo-”

“John?” His parents stood in the sitting room with him. His mother’s golden hair was lighter than he remembered, probably from the Iraqi sun. Her green eyes were just as bright though, although they held a worried look to them. His father even looked worried, the tanned lines of his face creased downwards as they watched John freeze. John turned slowly, “Mum? Da?” 

If he hadn’t been raised to be strong and tough, he would have shattered then. He would have thrown himself down to their feet and confessed to all his sins, all his wrongdoings and even explained that nagging feeling he got when he was near Sherlock. He would have opened his heart to them and let them take his life. But, he wasn’t raised to be that. 

“John, what is going on?” His father stepped forward then, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We got a call a few days ago, your friend Mary said she was worried about you.” Dr. Emma Watson moved forward then, wrapping her son in her arms. 

“What do you mean? Mary?” John moved to pull away from them. He could feel the ghosts getting restless. “She’s putting her pieces into play. John, she’s coming. She is going to make your world burn,” the three of them warned loudly. 

“We know high school is tough and we are so sorry for being away so much,” Emma began, giving her son a sad, apologetic smile. “My parents weren’t around when I was your age, I felt like the world was on my shoulders. Trust me, John, it isn’t.” John looked from his mother’s beautiful green eyes to his father’s icy blue ones that still looked worried and a bit ashamed. 

“You can talk to us,” James Watson added. John turned away some, eyes going out the window to the street below. He noticed the cab stop, the blonde get out and walk around his apartment. Mycroft was persistent now, “She is going to be in your room in a few minutes. 3 flat, you better run fast.” 

Emma held up a book, John’s copy of “A Long Way Down”, “Mary said you were having suicidal thoughts. She sent us this.” John snatched the book away, words and paragraphs of how his friends were dying, how he wished he wasn’t alone, how he wanted to die. “She had your handwriting down pact,” Mycroft said before the other two ghost- both now lacking blood and holes through them and had finally gotten clothes although John didn’t have time to be happy he no longer had two nude ghost following him around. 

The book fell from from his hands, “You don’t know what my life looks like.” Then, he was down the hall, slamming his door shut. Mary stood in his bedroom, wicked smile. 

“I hope you’re dressed! You are my date to the pep rally! Oh, and sorry for coming in through the window, terrible etiquette, I know,” She moved around the room with the grace of some wicked cat. Dark eyes, her shadow seemed to fold around her like some kind of cloud of misery and death. 

“Get out!” he shoved her into the hall and slammed the door- again. His parents were fretting about what to do about their suicidal son, since they didn’t have a long leave as it was. Mary practically growled through the door. 

“Just, get in the bloody closet,” Sebastian yelled, “The suspense is… Killing me!” 

Mycroft even laughed with the other two, though he frequently complained about their being around. 

John did just that, locking himself into his closet and trying to think. Mary had entered the room as he locked the closet. 

“You threw me away like trash. Oh John I should have killed you then! But, I started to think! It isn’t your fault! It was school, those pesky little people you constantly let fill your beautiful head with poison. You know, John, when I saw my mother walk into the burning building, I thought I would only ever be alone from there. But, then I met you! You made me feel… something! I cannot let a few people tear that apart. I love you, John. I was meant to be yours. God put us on this world together to be together, to get rid of the scum tearing us apart,” She took a deep breath and John got an idea, hands shaking as he worked in the darkness of the closet. 

“So, I decided! You are going to like this one! I built a bomb and tonight at the dance, our school will be Hiroshima! All those assholes will be no more! The petition that your little Eurus Holmes is spreading around is just a suicide note. A mass suicide to better the rest of the world! We can be together and you don’t have to worry about their thoughts any longer!” Her voice stopped as John took a breath, maybe his last. 

Suddenly she was screaming and pounding on the door, “JOHN! OPEN THE DAMN DOOR! YOU HAVE TILL THE COUNT OF THREE!” She stopped for a second. “Can we please not fight anymore, love? Please? AH FUCK IT.” 

Shoving a pocket knife into the jamb, the door popped open and banged against the drywall. Mary froze, eyes starting to water as she took in John’s hanging body. “Oh, Jonnie,” she sobbed. “Don’t leave me, please,” she went to touch him but decided against it, almost afraid if she did he would certainly be dead. “I… I have to do this alone. For you,” then she turned and left  through the window that she had come from. 

“John?” Emma came down the hall, deciding John had enough time to cool off from the conversation in the sitting room. Entering John’s bedroom, she felt her blood run cold. 

“Oh, God, mum,” John suddenly gasped as his mother screamed. “Mum, stop screaming. Please get this bloody harness off of me. I will explain everything, and I mean Everything, when I get back. Mum, God, stop crying, please,” he tried to calm her enough to get her to unsnap the old harness from when he used to go rock climbing with Molly and her brothers. She eventually calmed enough to help him, still looking horrified. 

“Mum, I love you. Dad too,” John gave her a firm hug. “If I am not back by midnight, please know I was never depressed or suicidal. I love my life, I love you and dad- as I said. I just, I have to clean up the mess I made,” with that, he gave a firm nod then snatched his keys and dashed down the hall. Having a sudden thought, he doubled back to his father’s small study. Along the line of books, there were two identical Britannica Encyclopedias. John grabbed one and opened it, the pages hollowed out. He never realized how much he disliked guns until the moment he tucked the pistol into his waistband. 

On the way to the high school, John’s phone rang Eurus’s tone. He answered it, not in the mood to talk to anyone. “What?”

“Did you hear?” 

“What?” John repeated, running a red light and cursing some as someone honked at him for speeding. 

“Mousey Molly decided to take a dive off the Tower Bridge,” Eurus gave a short laugh. 

“Oh my God, is she okay?” John turned the wheel sharply, making a quick detour. 

“She’s fine. Just some broken bones. She’s just another loser trying to imitate the popular kids.’ John had enough of Eurus for now, he hung up and tossed the phone away, practically fishtailing into St. Bart’s. “We are kind of on a schedule,” Mycroft reminded him. 

James shoved Sebastian as they drifted behind John, who was getting the number of Molly’s room and then breaking into a sprint. “Come on. It is going to take her a few minutes to build a bomb. Let’s give the man 10 minutes to get to school.” Mycroft scoffed, “Never thought you were one for such compassion, seeing as you drugged my sister.” James shrugged, “Hey, Molly is my ex. I do have a heart somewhere.” Then he paused, “Wait, it acually got shot. Thanks for that, by the way.” 

John noticed the lights were off in Molly’s room, he crept in quietly. “Molly, I am so sorry. Please be okay and I swear, I will let you hit me as hard as you want.” Her heart monitor giving a steady beep was the only response he got. He didn’t have time to cry. “Time I clean up my mess.” 

Like a soldier going into battle, John knew exactly how this was going to end. Someone was going to be dead, and it was up to him to make sure it was him or no one. 

“No one deserves to die,” John told the ghosts, knuckles white as he sped towards the school. “No one but me and this monster I created.” His ghosts were gone then, leaving him to march into his death alone. Somethings never change. A little less than 6 months ago, John thought his worst battle was going to be getting through his senior year without striking a match and burning the whole Culverton High down. Now, it seemed to be he was going to be preventing that and possibly killing the first female he had loved. We all seem to be in Hell, just facing different demons. 

John marched into the school to find everyone in the gym, setting up some sort of celebration. Oh right, Mary had mentioned some kind of pep rally. “John?” Ms. Donovan looked a bit shocked to she him. “Mary told me you just committed suicide.” 

John crossed his arms across his chest, “Well, she’s wrong about a lot of things.” He looked around the hall, wondering where Mary may be. “Well I created a lovely speech given the short notice.,” she said, hand to her cheek as she pondered over the fact John was indeed alive. 

“What is under the gym?” 

“Um, a boiler room. Why?” Ms. Donovan raised an eyebrow, looking a bit confused. 

“No reason, bye,” then he was gone. Maybe if she was a smart woman, she would have called after him and followed and found Mary and him. Maybe things would end differently, but alas my dear- that is not how our story must go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited. I think. I may have edited it before my laptop was taken? Forgive me for spelling/grammar errors.


	9. Oh, So Damaged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I wanted a bit of Johnlock and to drag this out a bit, there is a bit of me dragging a bit out just to get the story along without abandoning my plotline. The plotline. Oh, dear, and it is a bit short compared to some of my other chapters. Enjoy!

John pushed open the heavy door marked “Do Not Enter. Boiler Room. Danger.” 

Inside was dark and steamy, the only light from the dim bar lights hanging precariously from the ceiling. Just around one of the boilers, John spotted Mary. She wasn’t joking about a bomb. Not that he had believed she was, he just kind of had hoped she had been joking. 

“Step away from the bomb,” John stepped from behind the boiler, hand on the Sig. Mary just chuckled, tilting her head over her shoulder to look at him. 

“This? This is hardly a bomb. The real bombs are upstairs, jumping around. When they find the ashes of this school, they will see that they had to die not because of society but because this school IS society. The only place that Holmes and Mollys can get along is in Heaven,” her voice was ice, turning into a growl towards the end of her sentence. 

“I wish your mum had been strong, that she had stayed longer. I wish your dad was a better man and that we had met before they convinced you life was war.” John stepped forward a bit, hands firm around the gun as he moved to see the pack of explosives. “I wish people understood. I wish you would just come with me, leave this silly plan. Just, Mary, come with me.” 

She stood and turned on him sharply, “I wish I had more TNT.” With that, she lept the short space between them and went to hit him. John had never thought he could hit a girl, never even dreamed of raising a hand to one, but the moment that small blonde dove at him all that was forgotten. 

Her hits were harder than he had expected, causing him to stumble back and hit a hot boiler. That drove him from his frozen stance, bringing his own hand up to hit the blonde. They wound up falling to the ground and rolling closer to the bomb that flashed as it counted down, ten minutes give or take some seconds. He needed to get the bomb out of here. Needed to get Mary away from it. Shit, how was he going to do all this? Suddenly, there was a loud bang and John froze. 

Mary no longer hit him, her gasp and cough made him move back sharply to assess the danger. Both were covered in bruises, John’s face was scratched and dirty but no shot to him. He looked at Mary and saw the blood on the front of her sweater. Her hands came up and she coughed. 

“Oh God,” he whispered, noticing her gun was closer while his had been thrown aside. “Come with me, Mary. I can get you help.” She looked at him and kind of smiled, the smile he had seen the first time they met. The kind, loving smile that made him fall for her to begin with. Blood covered her white teeth, a bit leaking from the corner of her lips and the bruises over her cheek were a bit bright. She just looked over and grabbed the bomb. John didn’t even know how to stop a bomb and now it was strapped around her waist. She just stood, wincing as she did. 

“Let's get out of here. You beat me fair and square.” She moved towards the door and pushed out into the hall. John kept trying to get her to stop, to let him stop her bleeding but she refused to stop. The stubborn, crazy blonde just walked from the school, into the empty rugby field. 

“Mary, please,” John said again, watching her steps slowly falter. He didn’t dare get too close, the bomb was still ticking down slowly. They had less than five minutes to get it off and away from anyone. 

“I am damaged,” Mary said as she dropped to her knees. “Far too damaged. Stick around John, make this damned world a better place. Ha, you really beat me, John. Step back,” she motioned with her hands, the skin bleached white as her hands shook. Her blue eyes met John’s as she smiled, “Wish you would kiss me. Promise you’ll miss me? I,” she coughed, a bit more blood coming up, “I worship you, John.”

“Wait,” John said, staring at her with wide and terrified eyes. “I can get it off. We can run. No one has to die!”

But, the way Mary had strapped the bomb around her would make that impossible and he knew it. She knew it. They had a few seconds. “Step back please, a little further,” Mary waved her hands for him to step back while he did. There was not saving her. “Say hi to God,” John whispered as he moved back from the blast radius. He didn't get far before the timer went off, burning some of his hair and the back of his coat. The impact caused him to get knocked over into the dirt, debris from the field and fire were all he could really see. Part of him knew what happened, All of him knew. He knew she was head and there was damage to the field, but he looked back anyway, to see the damage for himself. There was so much dirt and there was still fire, but he tried to look through- maybe a small part hoped for Mary to walk out but she didn’t. So much of him relaxed when he realized she was gone. Shouldn’t he feel bad? 

“What happened? What is going on?” people began to leave the school, hearing the commotion outside. John limped up, a bit of soot smeared across his cheek and jaw. Sherlock gasped, “John.”

Eurus raised an eyebrow, “You look like Hell.”

“Yeah,” he huffed a bit, “I just got back.” He looked up at all his class, people that he had never really looked at much though he knew all from primary school. He realized then, he didn’t know any of them. Hell, he didn’t even know himself. He was finally looking out of this glass box, seeing that each person there hid behind something. Everyone hides. But what from?

* * *

 

Police came, everyone was checked by paramedics and John was given a shock blanket, his statement given to the police officer that responded first. He left out some details, perhaps he would share them later. Right now, he was just focusing on breathing and having Sherlock leaned against him. The taller boy seemed small, knees tucked up to his chin as the two sat on some grass by the sidewalk. Blue and red lights highlighted his sharp cheeks and made him look sad and lost. 

“So, it was Mary,” Sherlock whispered, eyes glued to the ground. 

“I tried to stop her, I didn’t know until it was too late… I… I cannot apologize because me lying is unforgivable.” John stuttered a bit. He had spilled everything to Sherlock after the police officers left them on the grass. He hadn’t spared a single detail, to the accidental death of Mycroft to the ghosts to the bomb and gun. He couldn’t bare it any longer. Sherlock didn’t speak for a few moments.

“I kind of knew. I mean, I didn’t but I did… The suicide note, some of the letters were a bit different from Mycroft.” Sherlock moved his feet a bit, scuffing some grass, “I just hoped I was wrong, but either way was utter… shit.” 

John sighed, “I didn’t want to. I like Mycroft.” 

Sherlock eyed him, noticing the present tense. “You still do?” 

John shrugged, “Perhaps I always will. He showed me one thing in all of this.” Sherlock’s eyes were as green and bright as new leaves on a spring flower, the blue lights flashing made them shimmer brightly. “Showed me I cannot hide behind some glass box. And that dead guys are shit at jokes.” 

Sherlock laughed at the last line, a few tears slipping from his eyes. Of course talking about his brother opened some old wounds, but he would be okay. He had John to be there, make sure he was okay. 

“And he showed me that I need you,” John said, looking away to watch a group of kids climb into their cars and leave, the excitement of the day was over. “I would never have had the year I have had, had it not been for your face.”

“My face?” Sherlock pursed his lips, a confused look over his eyes. 

“Yeah. Your face is so damned cute. Why couldn’t you have been ugly? I would never have marched into that bathroom and saved your arse from detention. No, you had to be this wonderful, smart and beautiful git. Hell, I am wearing clean trousers,” John rolled his eyes, as if the thought of his clothes being dirty after one day of wearing was still the craziest idea ever. He is just a teenager. 

Sherlock didn’t say anything so John finally looked at him. He hadn’t expected the boy to tackle him to the ground, pressing cupid bow lips to his own. The two tumbled a bit, the shock blanket getting pulled off as they hit the ground. John just smiled against his mouth, holding him closer. After a moment, Sherlock pulled back, looking down at John through unruly curls. “I have been wanting to do that since fifth grade.” John didn’t even know that Sherlock knew he even existed in grade five, much less wanted to kiss him. 

“I thought you weren’t gay,” Sherlock added, raised eyebrow in that sassy way. 

“I’m not. I am attracted to you, not men. Duh, Sherlock. I am…” He paused for a moment, wondering, “Shersexual.” 

Sherlock laughed, planting another kiss to John’s mouth, “That isn’t a thing!” 

“It is, I made it up. I am the only one in the world,” John winked and Sherlock just went to roll his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are drawing to an end, guys. I am a bit upset, it seems just yesterday I was up at midnight imaging this story.   
> I have a new one up as well, if you like Doctor Who/Supernatural/Sherlock, it is pretty good. I think. I like it, drama and SuperWhoLock is, in all honesty, my life. So, if you like my work, check it out.


	10. Closing Curtains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortest chapter yet. Also the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end. I enjoyed writing this. I think it may always be my favorite writing.   
> Mostly just an epilouge - is that how it is spelled?   
> Written on my phone so please forgive any spelling errors.

School had been canceled for two days, John went home and told his parents everything. His father was silent while his mother had cried, burying her face in her hands as her husband sat stoically. John had been strong, admitting he was in fact confused about… well, he was confused about everything. But, neither yelled or cursed him. General James Watson had looked elsewhere when John began to explain Sherlock and how close they had become, but no one said anything. Not even when he explain the bad he had done while trying to impress the trio. Not even when he admitted the deaths were his fault. Nothing. 

Now, John was back at their school- most of the damage was cleaned up and had begun to be repaired. Everyone was gathered around the front when John showed up. 

Eurus and Sherlock stood at the top of the stairs leading into the school, looking cold and detached as always. People murmured and whispered in hushed tones as John approached the duo. He hadn't been haunted by the three victims, not all single time. He truly felt alone. 

“John,” Eurus narrowed her eyes. How could a fifteen year look so commanding? 

“Not now. There are issues that have to be addressed,” he looked out over the crowd of teenagers. “Listen up,” his voice carried, causing the lot to go silent, eyes turning to him to listen carefully. 

“Honestly, I am damaged. So are each of you. High school is hell,” he turned and offered Eurus a hand. When she took it, he turned her wrist over and unsnapped the cufflinks. Holding them tightly, he turned back to the crowd, “There's a new sheriff in town. Now, I can't promise things will be perfect. I can't say there won't be more Holmes and Hoopers in the world. I can't promise we won't hate our lives and wish it was different. But, I can promise it won't be so bad. Life… life gets better, but it will always be hard.” People whispered as he undid his own cufflinks. “We're all people. We are more than labels and price tags. More than our looks and names. We are people and that is enough. Now,” he spotted Molly in the crowd, a cast on her wrist and a few scrapes on her cheek. She hadn't been as hurt as everyone thought. “How about we rent a movie? Some popcorn and ice cream?” She looked a bit scared. 

“If you'd have me as your friend again. If you could ever forgive me and accept me for who I am.”

She nodded, “Friends.” 

Then, he turned to Sherlock, “Sherlock, would you have dinner with me? This Saturday?” 

The tall, pale boy blushed, nodding as if he couldn't find words. He probably couldn't. 

Eurus went to say something, but John stopped her. “Eurus, would you like to join Molly and I for movie night? You can bring a movie. Something with a happy ending maybe?” The mousy girl had moved next to John, eyes lowered. 

Eurus cracked a smile, a sad smile. Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears, “Are there any happy endings?”

The bell for class rang and John removed his blazer, tossing it into a trash can. Sherlock laughed and did the same, removing his cufflinks and throwing them away. John cringed, “Those were expensive.”

He laughed and shrugged, “I am rich. I'll buy more!” then he grabbed John’s face and kissed him hard. Both were smiling against the other's lips, John pulling the taller boy closer by the hips while Sherlock pulled at his hair and tilted his head to the side more. 

“Get a room, wankers,” Eurus laughed, tossing her blazer into the can as well. Molly was smiling and twirling her hair around one finger. Eurus gave her a smile then they all went in to their class. 

Maybe things would get better. Maybe things would turn up for the kids now. Even if they don't stay in touch after high school, John would never forget seeing everything begin to look up. Maybe he would keep in touch with the Holmes kids. Lydia made it clear she never blamed John, they still loved him as one of their own. His parents would begin staying home more because, maybe, being away for a lot of your child’s life is not good. Maybe James meets Sherlock and finds he likes the boy. Maybe John gets close to his sister, even attending her wedding that summer- with his date Sherlock. 

Maybe, life was never as bad as he thought but now he could finally see the light. 

No, it isn't the end of their lives but it is the end of the tale from here. John sat back on his bed, looking at a few pictures of him, Molly, Eurus and Sherlock. Sherlock was ticking away at his violin strings in their lovely little flat at 221B Baker Street. He'd returned from the military just weeks before, finding Sherlock did wait for him. Their parents had retired to a little place in the country, both families grew close after the engagement. Eurus worked in Buckingham Palace, she was the British Government- a job Mycroft had always wanted. Sherlock was the world's only and best Consulting Detective and the second Watson-Holmes. Dr. John Watson-Holmes was the first. 


End file.
